Wilfrid Cumbermede Part 47

'Won't you come to luncheon?' she said, with a sly archness, looking none the less bewitching for a smudge or two on her lovely face, or the blackness of the delicate hands which she held up like two paws for my admiration.

'In the servants' hall? Workmen don't sit down with ladies and gentlemen. Did Miss Brotherton send you to ask me?'

She shook her head.

'Then you had better come and lunch with me.'

She shrugged her shoulders.

'I hope you will _some_ day honour my little fragment of a house. It is a curious old place,' I said.

'I don't like musty old places,' she replied.

'But I have heard you speak with no little admiration of the Hall: some parts of it are older than my sentry-box.'

'I can't say I admire it at all as a place to live in,' she answered curtly.

'But I was not asking you to live in mine,' I said--foolishly arguing.

She looked annoyed, whether with herself or me I could not tell, but instantly answered,

'Some day--when I can without--But I must go and make myself tidy, or Miss Brotherton will be fancying I have been talking to you!'

'And what have you been doing, then?'

'Only asking you to come to lunch.'

'Will you tell her that?'

'Yes--if she says anything.'

'Then you _had_ better make haste, and be asked no questions.'

She glided away. I threw on my coat, and re-crossed the park.

But I was so eager to see again the fair face in the mob cap, that, although not at all certain of its reappearance, I told my man to go at once and bring the mare. He made haste, and by the time I had finished my dinner she was at the door. I gave her the rein, and two or three minutes brought me back to the Hall, where, having stabled her, I was at my post again, I believe, before they had finished luncheon. I had a great heap of books ready in the second room to carry into the first, and had almost concluded they would not come, when I heard their voices--and presently they entered, but not in their mob caps.

'What an unmerciful master you are!' said Clara, looking at the heap.

'I thought you had gone home to lunch.'

'I went home to dinner,' I said. 'I get more out of the day by dining early.'

'How is that, Mr c.u.mbermede?' asked Miss Brotherton, with a nearer approach to cordiality than she had yet shown.

'I think the evening the best part of the day--too good to spend in eating and drinking.'

'But,' said Clara, quite gravely, 'are not those the chief ends of existence?' 'Your friend is satirical, Miss Brotherton,' I remarked.

'At least, you are not of her opinion, to judge by the time you have taken,' she returned.

'I have been back nearly an hour,' I said. 'Workmen don't take long over their meals.'

'Well, I suppose you don't want any more of us now,' said Clara. 'You will arrange the books you bring from the next room upon these empty shelves, I presume?'

'No, not yet. I must not begin that until I have cleared the very last, got it thoroughly cleaned, the shelves seen to, and others put up.'

'What a tremendous labour you have undertaken, Mr c.u.mbermede!' said Miss Brotherton. 'I am quite ashamed you should do so much for us.'

'I, on the contrary, am delighted to be of any service to Sir Giles.'

'But you don't expect us to slave all day as we did in the morning?'

said Clara.

'Certainly not, Miss Coningham. I am too grateful to be exacting.'

'Thank you for that pretty speech. Come, then, Miss Brotherton, we must have a walk. We haven't been out-of-doors to-day.'

'Really, Miss Coningham, I think the least we can do is to help Mr c.u.mbermede to our small ability.'

'Nonsense!'--(Miss Brotherton positively started at the word.) 'Any two of the maids or men would serve his purpose better, if he did not affect fastidiousness. We sha'n't be allowed to come to-morrow if we overdo it to-day.'

Miss Brotherton was evidently on the point of saying something indignant, but yielded notwithstanding, and I was left alone once more.

Again I laboured until the shadows grew thick around the gloomy walls.

As I galloped home, I caught sight of my late companions coming across the park; and I trust I shall not be hardly judged if I confess that I did sit straighter in my saddle, and mind my seat better. Thus ended my second day's work at the library of Moldwarp Hall.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

AN EXPOSTULATION.

Neither of the ladies came to me the next morning. As far as my work was concerned, I was in considerably less need of their a.s.sistance, for it lay only between two rooms opening into each other. Nor did I feel any great disappointment, for so long as a man has something to do, expectation is pleasure enough, and will continue such for a long time.

It is those who are unemployed to whom expectation becomes an agony. I went home to my solitary dinner almost resolved to return to my original plan of going only in the afternoons.

I was not thoroughly in love with Clara; but it was certainly the hope of seeing her, and not the pleasure of handling the dusty books, that drew me back to the library that afternoon. I had got rather tired of the whole affair in the morning. It was very hot, and the dust was choking, and of the volumes I opened as they pa.s.sed through my hands, not one was of the slightest interest to me. But for the chance of seeing Clara I should have lain in the gra.s.s instead.

No one came. I grew weary, and for a change retreated into the armoury.

Evidently, not the slightest heed was paid to the weapons now, and I was thinking with myself that, when I had got the books in order, I might give a few days to furbis.h.i.+ng and oiling them, when the door from the gallery opened, and Clara entered.

'What! a truant?' she said.

'You take accusation at least by the forelock, Clara. Who is the real truant now--if I may suggest a mistake?'

'_I_ never undertook anything. How many guesses have you made as to the cause of your desertion to-day?'

'Well, three or four.'